Page 17 of Tracked by Hound (Steel Rebels MC #5)

Chelsea

The moonlight paints the garden in shades of silver and deep shadows that remind me of my husband’s eyes.

Every rustle of leaf or quiet whistle of wind sends a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me. I crouch deeper behind the hydrangea bush, careful not to make a noise. Hours. I’ve been here for two freaking hours!

Patience has never been my strong suit, but after the stolen tomatoes and broken aloe leaves, it’s become a matter of principle.

For two years, this garden has been my second home.

I’ve poured my heart and soul into transforming it from a desert of withering weeds to a green haven of vegetables and herbs.

The Rebels know to keep out my garden, and for their restraint, I often reward them with cut stems to gift their wives and girlfriends.

However, someone has been stealing my decimating my African violets, and tonight, I’ll catch the butcher.

I’m starting to get bored when a shadow suddenly appears, passing through the small white gate.

My pulse starts racing as I watch a figure carrying a basket creep toward my flower garden, quite confident in their steps.

They don’t even hesitate before reaching out and pulling up one of the delicate little violet plants.

I gape at the horrifying scene, more surprised by the person’s identity than what they’re doing.

How could he!

I move slightly, and pebbles shift under my shoe. The figure freezes, his head snapping up and eyes scanning the darkness. He hesitates for a second, but seemingly assured that he’s alone, he reaches for another plant.

Closer, I urge him.

Oh, he’s not getting away unscathed this time.

A few days ago, I had Hound set a trap for me.

It had been our compromise when I’d wanted to go to Saint and demand an investigation.

The trap is a simple string tied to a bucket of water, waiting to drench whoever dares to maim my precious blooms. With Hound away, I’ve had idle days, and what better way to spend the time than lying in wait for the plant murderer to show up.

Now that he has, he’ll get a taste of his own medicine.

I snort at the pun in my own thoughts just as he reaches out, fingers brushing against the velvety green leaf of a third plant.

My poor violets. He’s not just butchering them this time, he’s stealing the whole plant right out of the dirt!

I hold my breath in anticipation of justice, and I am not disappointed.

Suddenly the string snaps, and the bucket crashes down. I hear a startled yelp followed by a series of curses. I watch my plant assailant brushes a hand over his wet face as he blinks into the darkness. There is a grin on my face when I finally emerge from my hiding spot.

“Gotcha!”

His head whips around, and I am met by familiar eyes, ones I’d previously thought so sweet and thoughtful. Not anymore. Clearly, he’d deceived me about his true nature. He winces when I shine a flashlight in his face, feeling a sliver of satisfaction when I find him soaked to the bone. “Chelsea—”

“I can’t believe you of all people would do this! You love the garden almost as much as I do. You’re out here almost every day reading under the tree.” Tears spring to my eyes with my words, and even I can admit I feel unreasonably betrayed.

“I’m so sorry, Chelsea. I do love the garden. It’s the perfect place to relax and unwind. But Rusty— “Atlas stammers.

“Don’t you drag that little angel into this, mister,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re lucky that was just water. Do you know how hard it was to salvage those violets after your last midnight raid?”

I wait, staring at my husband’s junior enforcer.

Even though the man is older than Hound, he hasn’t been with the club nearly as long, so he doesn’t have the same level of seniority that my husband enjoys.

Currently, he is looking more sheepish than I’ve ever seen him.

Despite being a quiet, reserved man, Atlas exudes a kind of steady confidence that makes you believe he can do anything without crossing the line into arrogance.

In a motorcycle club full of rough, but respectable men, he’s generally regarded as the most trustworthy and reliable.

Though that’s probably because he is one of the few bikers in the club who doesn’t gossip like a teen girl with her first phone.

“I really am sorry, Chelsea. The last time the violets were damaged was because I’d brought Rusty out here with me to enjoy some sunshine.

I’d gotten lost in my book and wasn’t pay close enough attention.

He’s the one who damaged the flowers, but it was my fault,” Atlas says, referring to his chubby ginger cat, the only animal allowed in the clubhouse and the MC’s kind of unofficial mascot.

“I don’t see Rusty anywhere tonight, so what is your excuse this time?” I demand, hands going to my hips.

Atlas gestures to the basket he’d been carrying that now sits at his feet.

“I know how upset you were about the damage. So I went to buy you replacements. It took me several days to find a garden center that had any in stock, and I had to go all the way down to Bloomington for them. I only just got back to the city and was hoping to get them planted before morning.”

I’m about to reprimand him for pulling out my healthy, albeit nibbled, plants when a chuckle distracts me.

I look around, seeking out my husband where he’s leaning against the small gate, lit by the overhead light and watching us with humor in his expression.

And just like that, I forget about the plant killer in front of me.

Bathed in the soft glow, Hound looks like something out of a fairytale. The yellow light highlights the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. The moonlight glimmers in those deep-set eyes; a beautiful shade of gray, they sparkle with warmth as they watch me.

I blame it on the moon or the moment, but there’s something captivating—spellbinding—about him tonight.

I always feel this overwhelming emotion whenever Hound is close, but tonight it feels amplified.

The need to climb the man like a tree takes root in me.

Maybe it has nothing to do with the moon and everything to do with the fact that Hound has been away on business for four miserable days.

“Sweetheart, I see you caught your vandal,” he muses, his voice deep, rich, and warm.

“Looks like it,” I say, pushing away from the garden as I approach him. Atlas and his flower thieving cat all but forgotten as I brush past him to get to my husband. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know I need to tell Saint we have a talented new interrogator… Oh!” He laughs when I fling myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and burying my face in his neck. “Well, I missed you too, kitten.”

“You said you’d be gone for just two days,” I mumble into his skin, inhaling his scent like a woman deprived of oxygen.

His arms tighten around me. “I’m sorry. The mark was clever this time and kept evading me. I had to track him across the state.” I push back to look at him, and for the first time, see the fatigue in his eyes. “I’m here now.”

“Good,” I say, kissing his jaw. “Let’s head inside and…”

My voice trails off when I catch the dark, heated glint in his eyes.

All too familiar with his moods now, I know what it means.

My body can’t help but react as it always does when he gets this way.

With those dangerous eyes trained on me, I feel my sex pulse and grow slick with arousal.

Mortified, I look around to the spot where I left Atlas, but he’s gone along with his basket of butchered flowers.

“He left,” Hound says, drawing my attention back to him with a kiss to my neck. “Probably terrified of what you might do to him.”

“Oh, you can bet I’ll have him out here first thing in the morning repairing my flowerbeds and planting all of those violets,” I say, losing my train of thought and gasping when the hand on my waist drops to my ass. “But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Let’s go inside for a proper reunion.”

“Hmm, we could do that,” he concedes, dropping his mouth to my neck, and I have to bite hard on my lip to stop a whimper when he kisses the sensitive skin.

His hand slides under the dress I have on, and I swallow a moan when his finger traces the line of my panties, teasing my sex over the seam.

“Or you could let me fuck you here in your favorite place. Your pick.”

“Oh!”

My eyes shoot over his shoulder to the dark door that leads back into the clubhouse. Although unlikely, someone could come out to smoke or something. Or Atlas could return with the violets and walk out to find my husband balls deep inside of me.

“Damn, you’re impatient,” I tease despite my own sex throbbing fiercely. Four days without my husband. Phone sex doesn’t compare to the real thing, and Lord above, I want to feel him inside of me after being apart for so long.

Hound's mouth moves up to my ear, kissing me as he leans in. “You’re going to be real quiet while I take you.” His hand is already tugging my panties to the side, and I gasp when he slips his middle finger into my sex.

I bury my face in his shoulder and bite hard to muffle a sob.

“I’m going to fuck you where we stand, fill you with my cock, and rut you like an animal.

Then I’m going to fill you with my cum, and you’re going to take every drop without making a sound.

When we’re done, I’ll carry you up to our place and do it all over again. ”

“Oh God, Hound… We shouldn’t…” I start, but my hands are already dropping to his belt and unfastening it. “What if someone walks out and sees us?”